The Strangers: Chapters 1–10

The sub had dressed all in gray and had gray hair and a gray face and even a gray voice—somehow, Emma decided, that was possible. And the sub made the entire day so dreary and dull that Emma had started looking for and counting weird things about the day just to keep herself awake.

By the time Emma got off the school bus and began racing toward the house, she’d counted twenty-one things she considered indisputably weird.

Mussing Finn’s hair was like petting a dog—you had to do it.

Finn had thick, unruly hair with odd cowlicks that sprang up no matter how much Mom smoothed them down.

“Maybe you should sue Mom for giving you such a different name,” Finn suggested.
“Or maybe I should sue for getting such a boring, ordinary name,” Emma countered.

“But Mom, this is what I look like in second grade,” he’d argued, sticking his tongue into the hole where his teeth used to be just for the sheer joy of it.

He yanked his hand away from Emma, put his fists on his hips, and tried to look stern. “Mom, did you let that other family clone us?”

“Statistics,” Emma said. “Probability. There are billions of kids in the world. Probably millions of girls named Emma who have two brothers. Maybe thousands who have one brother named Finn, hundreds—or, well, at least dozens—who have a brother named Rochester..."

Then he furrowed his brow and pointed at the laptop screen.

She said she was just typing up invoices to send out for her business, the kind of mindless work she could do while keeping one eye on animated Legos.

With all the curtains and blinds drawn, Chess had to navigate by the thin slats of moonlight that trickled in along the edges.

It was 3:15 a.m. exactly when Chess noticed that the door to the basement was slightly ajar.

Finn remembered that the last time Mom had made French toast, it was because she’d gotten overwhelmed with her job and had to work an entire Saturday. That French toast was like an apology for not taking the kids to the park.

Finn saw Chess’s face change, as if someone had flipped a switch. One moment, he looked groggy and sad—and just wrong, with those circles under his eyes.

Maybe both of them would sling their arms around his shoulders and say, “Ah, grasshopper, let us initiate you into this stage of growing up. We’re so proud of you! Neither of us figured out anything like that until we were nine!”

On a normal day, Mom probably would have scolded Emma for how sassy and disrespectful that sounded.

They all scattered for a frenzy of clothes changing, face washing, and teeth brushing.

It seemed like Chess, Emma, and Finn should have known instantly about everything that happened to their Arizona doubles. Like Emma should have felt a twinge in her side when she was sitting in social studies class and realized, Oh no! The other Emma Grace is in danger!

The younger boy’s ears tilted slightly, making him look a little elfin, just like Finn. Other-Finn had the same mischievous gleam in his eye, too.

“Emma, your hair,” Mom said. She pressed her hands against her own head and moved them outward, pantomiming an explosion.

“You know, she has a daughter, too, and it wouldn’t be fair to make them uproot their lives when they’re doing a favor for us.”

“No, you don’t get to re-wear clothes and have dirty teeth,” Mom said briskly. “I’ll pack suitcases for each of you and give them to Susanna.” She glanced at the kitchen clock for probably the fifth time since Chess had stepped into the room.

“So what does it mean that Ms. Morales is picking us up after school?” Emma asked. Chess knew it was wrong, but he was glad that she sounded sulky.

His stomach roiled, and he put his forkful of French toast back on his plate.

Normally she would have noticed that a few unruly locks of Emma’s hair were already slipping out of her ponytail rubber band and Emma had started absent-mindedly twirling one of them around her finger.

In a few minutes, Emma’s hair would probably look as messy as Albert Einstein’s again—even as her brain was trying to solve quantum physics or the mysteries of time travel or some other mathematical or scientific conundrum.

In a few minutes, Emma’s hair would probably look as messy as Albert Einstein’s again—even as her brain was trying to solve quantum physics or the mysteries of time travel or some other mathematical or scientific conundrum.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, engulfing him and his overstuffed backpack.

He kept his head down, as if he didn’t trust his legs to move without him watching. Or maybe it was that he didn’t trust his head not to swivel back toward Mom and the rest of his body to follow.

"...Our bus stopped the green car from catching up with Finn’s mom! What’s it called when someone helps someone else with a crime? We’re—”
“Accomplices?” Lucy asked.